


night moves

by Crestfallen_Headcutter_Kijo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crestfallen_Headcutter_Kijo/pseuds/Crestfallen_Headcutter_Kijo
Summary: Domeric and Sansa have a strange night of passion.
Relationships: Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	night moves

Tonight was the night and Domeric Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, was shivering in his boots. His mind was in the clouds and his walk, normally a confident stride much like his late father, had a noticeable gait.

Why?

His lady wife, Sansa, had prepared something special in his chambers – all for him. They would be the only souls in the quarters – all guards and servants have been sent away for the night.   
For the entire day, he watched the sun, barely visible in the foggy air, slowly makes its descent down the horizon of his lands. Domeric taps his foot impatiently in his solar. The desire pooling in his loins can be felt in his breeches, forming a sizable tent. A faint temptation to reach for his belt buckle stems from within. Yet, he must be patient. He must save himself for tonight. Their arrangement.

With his attention on his desire, he did not hear the door to his solar open as a servant came in. “My lord?”  
Domeric gulped and straightened himself. “Yes?”  
“Your lady wife, my lord… she has passed from her fever. She is in her chambers.”  
The words might bring despair to many, but to Domeric that night, it was hunger. Ravenous hunger. It was the signal that he and his wife agreed to, for he so-called “special occasion”. Perhaps more roughly than needed, he stood straight up, nearing flipping his chair. “Take me there.”

Hurrying through the halls and stairways, Dom and the servant finally arrived at a large, thick oak door. Their chambers. Their debauched playground. Their…  
“My lord?”  
Without missing a beat, Domeric snapped his head to face the servant.  
“Leave now and do not come back. Speak to no one about what you have seen for heard here. Disobey, and I’ll feed you and your entire family to the hounds.”  
The servant, scared out of his mind, only managed to bow deeply and scurry away like the rat he was.  
Hand on the doorknob, Domeric could feel his heart beating wildly in his ribcage. His hard-on was now flat against his thigh. Eyes and mind mad with desire.

He tipped the door open slowly.

There she was. His beautiful wife.

Naked and lying straight across the furs of their bed. Arms straight to her sides.

Domeric, in a mad flurry, quickly divested himself of every last scrap of clothing and hurried to the bed where his wife lay. He saw all of her.

Her bright red hair, wavy and smooth, splayed across the bed like a radiant red wave.

Her skin, freckled and pale, radiated warmth and life and displayed every body part of hers that he had seen and enjoyed so much. A dull observer would’ve mistaken her stillness for death if it had not been for her silent breathing, kept to a minimum per Domeric’s instruction. Her scent, a sweet lavender and apricot, came from extravagant soaps that he had bought for her from Lys. She came prepared.

Her face is a peaceful and serene death mask, only betrayed by subtle twitches in the eyes and lips. Her body, gaunt and angular, spurred his lust with the etched lines of her bones protruding through her shoulders, chest and hips, yet remained with a soft feminine curve of her thighs, breast and arse.

The gods old and new would’ve marveled at this glorious sight, Domeric thought, and they would’ve taken her too, if not for him.

Ravaging her, this beautiful creature, in defiance of the gods, bringing her back to life with his lustful touch… The thought of such sinful sacrilege only spurred him on even more.

As Domeric lied down next to Sansa, he felt his heart almost flying out of his chest, snatched away like House Corbray’s sigil. The fire burns within him…

But he must start slow.

Sitting up next to her, Domeric clutched her shoulder. The straight, leering edge of her bones felt through her velvet skin sends him almost reeling.

Many times, in front of the dressing mirror, he had lovingly put his hands on his wife’s shoulders as she tries to beautify herself while sniggering. 

This time, she was unresponsive. Dead stiff.

Gods, she is so good a mummer. Why haven’t I seen it?

As his hands strayed to her collarbones then to her sternum, Domeric saw his wife trying to hold it together. A slight tightening of lips and eyelids were indication. He made sure to not tickle her on this night – his touches were firm. It mattered not, for he had reached his first targets.

Sansa’s breasts.

Those beautiful mounds of flesh bound to her chest. He has done all the things he could do with them already, yet here they are still as new to him as the first time he saw them. Her ribcage vibrates faintly with every disguised breath, but only enough to not be obvious.

Domeric takes a breast into his hand.

The reaction is immediate: Sansa’s breath immediately hitches as she takes in a sudden gasp of air. Her composure nearly shattering, she tries hard to remain still as Domeric knead the soft tissue. They were average, but it was the way her loving Dom preferred it. Proportionate, just like the rest of her gaunt body. The marbled stiff pink nipples were mere the cherry on top the cake.

Slowly and carefully, Domeric lifts the breast in his hand. Underneath it, were Sansa’s beautiful ribs. A sign of Sansa’s thinness, they form neat, firm rows running along Sansa’s side. Running his other hand through them, carefully to not tickle her, he feels his lust climbing. Many a time he had held her on her sides from behind, a pleasant daily surprise. But now, seeing how thin Sansa normally is, not from a lack of nutrition (he had always provided the best for her), it had made only made his lust for her grow ever stronger.

Turning to his still despondent spouse, Domeric purred:

“Naughty girl Sansa. You are so thin. Must I import more lemon cakes for you?”

Her response was an unladylike snort before returning to the peaceful expression he had found her in. A committed player, Domeric had found her to be.

Removing his hands from her chest, he moved lower to observe…

Sansa’s belly. 

Lines of strength can be seen across its smooth surface, boons from Sansa’s love of horse riding, but radiates a strange softness, one befitting a mother-to-be. The surface is strewn with light fuzzy hair that upon closer inspection, radiate the same auburn as her hair. Towards her navel, her belly noticeably dips inward, taking on a concave like valley. Inside, underneath all the skin, flesh and bone; carries a womb awaiting to carry his children. It is what Domeric intends to give Sansa.

She shall bring to this world many children. Many of mine and hers.

But first, a test.

Slowly, he puts a hand on Sansa’s toned, flat belly. The flesh gives way to his strength as he felt Sansa sigh in surprise of his touch.

He leans forward. His weight goes downward on his arm. A ragged breath leaves Sansa as she feels her insides pushed within as a large weight is pressed down her perfect belly, creating a clear concave depression deep within her abdominals. Her ribs and hipbones, once hidden beneath her, now protrude themselves from beneath distended flesh and skin, in all their edgy glory. Sansa moans with difficulty as her diaphragm is crushed alongside her sensitive womb by her husband’s strong hand. She could feel her lower lips becoming wetter and wetter at the rough abdominal intrusion.

The sight of Sansa, straight as a board, struggling to breathe as her husband’s hand sinks into her belly, compressing all of her innards into a deep pit, ribcage and hip bones etching through distended skin…

All of it burned Domeric from the inside out. He can no longer wait. In his mad fervor, he lifted Sansa’s willowy right arm by the hand and kissed it.

“Sansa, you’re so beautiful. So wet. Are you ready to come back to life?”

A jerky nod was his answer.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Sansa. Prepare yourself.”

Relieving his weight from Sansa’s midsection, he helped himself fully on the bed, on his knees, towering over his still wife.

“Sansa, when I fuck you, I want you to go limp. No more playing.”

A nod.

Lifting her legs to his shoulders, Domeric mutters breathily: 

“Sansa, my wife, I love you.”

A sharp thrust.

Domeric gasped at the tightness of her walls. She was still as taut as their first night when he claimed her. The Bolton lord could not help himself. With a loud moan erupting he frantically impaled her over and over again, no longer caring if he came early. Her slickness from the previous ministrations simply made it easier.

Sansa simply felt amazing underneath him. Hair splayed out on the mattress like a wanton harpy, her thin frame limp as her bony torso was held tightly to her husband’s strong frame, her insides expanding and contracting to the rhythm of her husband’s own movements.

Soon, Domeric felt it. He was close. So was she.

“Sansa, get ready.”

Sansa was too mad with lust to hear her husband’s voice as stars filled up her vision as she nears her release. Then, it hit them both.

The redhead’s loins suddenly explode in pleasure as she came, her entrance squeezing down on her love’s protruding tool. Domeric grunts loudly as the pressure forces him to come, releasing slow floods of love and desire deep within Sansa’s perfect stomach, nestling in her womb, awaiting germination. Spent, he collapses into Sansa’s now barely conscious form due to her own orgasm as they both pant in each other’s embrace.

They laid there for a while before Sansa turns to her husband, obviously flustered. Domeric was himself quite spent after the whole ordeal.

“My lord?”

“Yes, dear?” Murmured Domeric, who found himself out of breath.

“That was quite… morbid… what we did…” Sansa whispers, her voice subdued.

“If you don’t like it, we can… not do it again then…”

“No! Not that!” Sansa interjects hurriedly. “I mean… for special occasions… maybe…”

“Oh, my dear little Sansa,” chuckled the Lord of the Dreadfort, putting an arm around his beloved lady wife.

“You can have anything within reason from me… if you would ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Dom took his father's advice about Ramsay and stayed home, becoming Lord of the Dreadfort after his father passed from a bout of consumption. Ned refused to be Hand and wedded his daughter to Dom.
> 
> Oh, Dom is fucking weird in bed and Sansa oddly likes it.
> 
> First time writing smut. Hope it's not too weird for y'all.


End file.
